He's waiting for the midday windAnd waves spread out so dull and slackAnd with a hand fan every dayThe old man smooths the water backI cast a stone in just for funThe water rings moved on the planeSo sadly stood the old man byAnd swept the water flat againIn white sand the old man satTrembling as he smoked his pipeJust the water and I know thatThe fan is of a special typeAwareness sleeps volcano dreamsReluctant I asked him whyHis head hung low as if he sleptAnd the he said before he diedThe water will be your only mirrorFirst when it's like glass can you seeHow many fairytales you have leftFor your deliverance you will pleadThe fan was pressed to his breastJust as death's grip seized up his handHis fingers must have been so tightThe fan remained back in the sandI call the old man every dayShould he come and deliver meI stay here with the midday windAnd in the fan it is plain to readThe water will